


A Nightmare Seen With Open Eyes Is Better Than A Dream

by MasterKacey



Category: World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Assateague Island, Body Horror, Changelings, Crab brain, Cropdusters, Dark Fantasy, Gay Sex, Horror, Horseshoecrab people, It's a prescription, M/M, Murder, Ocean City, Possessed humans, Psychic Abilities, Self trained doctor, Supernatural - Freeform, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29645991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterKacey/pseuds/MasterKacey
Summary: Mako's mom is a coke addict, his dad beat feet before he was born, and his grandmother wishes he was a girl. With the bar already so low, it's not like things can get any worse.





	1. Chapter 1

Summer of 1976

Cramps still settle deep in her belly. Insult to injury, as if her womb is giving her timely reminders of the child it recently expelled. For the third time that day, Sophia retreats to the back storeroom, checking that she hasn't bled through another sanitary napkin. She allows herself a moment of sorrow. While the other Gaia on the clock take their five and ten minute breaks to smoke their cloves or Virgina Slims, Sophia sneaks a scant few seconds of lamentation for the son that still leaks the last bit of his life onto the absorbent pad between her body and her underwear.

She forces the closest thing to a smile she can bring to her lips, and moves to reenter the main store. The door swings open before she can exit, and a young boy sneaks into the room. His expression, normally melancholy, is etched with a deep sorrow. Sophia sighs inwardly, preparing to push aside her own troubles for whatever has stricken the boy. "Jack, what's wrong sweetie?" She's about to move forward to embrace him when his words stop her in her tracks.  
  
"How did you lose the baby? Where did he go?" A twin trail of tears fall down his cheeks.  
  
Sophia gapes, taken aback by the child's statement. It was barely common knowledge that she had lost the baby, and the fact that she was pregnant with the first malechild since Jackson himself had been born was known only to her and her mother. She steps backwards, falling into one of the folding chairs with enough force to send another wave of pain through her stomach and back. "Jackie," she attempts to keep her tone composed "..how did you know that? Did Evelyn say something?"  
  
Jack wipes at his eyes, shaking his head. "No, Meemaw didn't say anything." He hesitates. "/You/ told me. I heard it from your brain." Before Sophia can respond, Jack continues in a rush of explanation. "I'm sorry, Sophie. I know it's rude and wrong to listen to people when they're not talkin' to you, but I couldn't help it. You've been so happy with your thoughts and stuff since you found out, and it felt nice to listen because you loved him so much already, even though he was still inside you. Listening made me feel good and I'm sorry I listened and I'm sorry you lost him and I still don't understand." He stops, out of breath from his long winded but genuine reasoning.  
  
Sophia swallows around the lump in her throat, before holding her arms out to Jack, alleviating his guilty expression in a heartfelt embrace. "It's ok Jackie, I'm not mad at you." The young boy sniffles, putting his hand over her stomach in a gesture sympathetic enough to start her own tears flowing once more. The pair hold each other for several minutes, quietly sharing their sadness.  
  


Sophia breaks the silence, pushing Jack's long hair behind his ears and meeting the young boy's gaze. "How long have you been able to do stuff like that? Hear what people are thinking, I mean."  
  
Jack shrugs. "A while? I try not to do it. Sometimes I hear stuff from not-people too. Like, I found a bracelet out in the sand awhile ago and I wanted to keep it, but I could see the lady that lost it and she missed it a lot. I left it at the hotel she was staying at, but I don't know if she got it back or not."  
  
Impressed by the boy's talent and compassion, but not altogether surprised, Sophia tentatively asks: "Does Meemaw know you can do it?"  
  
Again, Jack shakes his head. "No. I don't say anything to her about it. I'm afraid it'll make her not like me."  
  
Sophia attempts to mask her concern, knowing that Evelyn would likely value the boy more, knowing he had such power within him. A flash of anger goes through her mind at the thought, and she quickly pushes the feeling aside, glancing at Jack to see if he picked up on the errant emotion. He's either unaware or doing a fair job pretending. She smiles in a comforting way. "You don't have to tell anyone about it, if you don't want to. I won't. It's not my secret to tell."  
  
The young boy returns the smile with a small, self-conscious one of his own, making his soft features almost feminine. "If you want, I'll make some tea for you to make your stomach feel better. It'll taste gross, but the ginger and mint help a lot."  
  
Sophia nods, kissing the boy's forehead before he heads out into the storefront. She sits there for a moment, thinking over their conversation and hating Juliana all over again for her neglect of the boy. Her thoughts become tinged with ire towards Evelyn as well, for her blatant disregard for the amazing grandson she was raising. Boys are so few and far between for the Gaia, especially such a sweet, good natured boy like Jackson. Sophia lets out another sigh, wincing as she rises from the chair and reenters the store.


	2. Chapter 2

Spring of 1992

I was born addicted to coke. Guess being a crack baby was the first of many strikes against me. Juliana, my mother, maybe she got cocaine confused with like, spinach. Either way, I was born almost two months early. A whopping four pounds of squalling, twitchy disappointment. There are studies that show that memories you have during infancy are likely dreams or just some sort of baby-hallucination, regardless, my first memory is Juliana being taken away from the hospital in handcuffs. Turns out having your dealer deliver to the maternity ward then trying to breastfeed your newborn while you're coked up breaks a couple of weird laws. So, unnamed baby boy Halle spent the first few months of his life in the ICU. At that point, I was probably convinced the incubator and the bili lights were my mom and dad. I definitely saw them more than any family.

In fact, the only baby picture I have is me in the maternity ward, couple of days before I was released into the wild. Just me, though. I don't even know who took the picture.  
  
Meemaw took time out of her busy tree hugging schedule to raise her grandson. I guess she must have realized Juliana was gonna be in jail for a while, 'cause she took it upon herself to christen me Jackson Arlo. Just in case the other kids didn't hate me enough for being a hyperactive little douche. Turns out my name was the least of my fucking worries, growing up with the Children of Gaia.  
Boys weren't common among the Gaia, and by not common, I mean I was the only fucking one. Some of the women had husbands, I guess. But they were always off on business trips or just out of sight. From birth to now, I was the sole malechild Gaia spawn. As I got older I wondered if the other women disliked my mother more for bringing a boy into the fold then for the whole cocaine thing.  
  
All the kids were home schooled. There was only one nearby school anyway, in Berlin, and they didn't want any of the island kids in their school. Something to do with some prepubescent shooting the place up in the 60's. Sophia taught all the kids basic fundamentals. Lucky for me, she was one the Gaia that actually liked me better for being a boy. She got pregnant with a boy herself when I was 8 or 9. It was a one night stand, but she was so psyched that it was a boy that she kept it. Well, was going to keep it. She started miscarrying during one of the new moon rituals, lost the baby the next day. Everyone gave her the whole "part of the great mother's plan" spiel, but even as a kid I saw how much it fucked her up. Sophia was always good to me. Treated me like a human. She was the one who convinced Meemaw to let me see a child psychiatrist for my hyperactive bullshit. I was diagnosed with attentive deficit disorder, otherwise known as asshole child syndrome, and promptly put on Adderall, otherwise known as baby crack. All jokes aside, I was and still am pretty intolerable without it. Other than the ADD, the only cocaine related side effects seemed to be great metabolism, insomnia and like, maybe psychic powers.  
  
Too bad reality television didn't become popular until the 90's, cuz Growing up Gaia would have been a tragic hit. While learning how to read and how to add and how to find Nigeria on a map, I also learned what herbs could be mixed together to knock someone out quicker than chloroform, and that placing a bloodstone on your forehead while laying on your back really does help get rid of a migraine. The older and smarter I got, the better I was at picking through what holistic "knowledge" was legit, and what was bullshit.  
  
They always paint this picture of boys being pushy little creeps when they're young. I dunno if it was the situational weirdness, or just my stupid luck, but being the only boy growing up with a bunch of girls was a trying fucking experience. I kept to myself because really, I just didn't like the other kids. Even in the single digits, these girls were cliquey and bitchy and two-faced as hell. At first nobody liked me because I was obviously different from them, but as we all got older I think a lot of these bitches were jealous that I was prettier than them. Either way, I had a bunch of little girls that would follow me around, yank my hair and try to pull my pants down so they could laugh at the stuff I had that was different than theirs. None of the moms did anything about it. If I had told Meemaw, she probably would have laughed and gave me the whole "girls will be girls" line. I didn't go to her for much. She was Meemaw to everyone, after all. Blood relation didn't really factor in with any sort of favoritism or preferential treatment. She didn't neglect me or anything, I was properly fed, housed and educated, once in awhile she'd even pay attention to me, but most people wouldn't have realized I was her grandchild if we didn't share a last name.  
  
I was a lonely fucking kid. I talked too much, asked too many questions, and just stood out too fucking much among the sea of X chromosomes. Next to Sophia, the closest thing I had to a friend was my stuffed shark. He was a mako shark named Macaroni. Nobody told me I was pronouncing mako wrong, and eventually the nickname stuck to me as much as it did my stuffed shark. To this day, I can count on one hand the amount of people that call me Jackson or any form thereof.  
  
I read a lot. There was always plenty of shit to read in the store or in the other Gaia's houses. Mostly New Age bullshit. The library was in walking distance, so as soon as I was old enough for no one to give a shit about me wandering the inlet on my own, I started spending a lot of time there. History bored the hell out of me, and I could only concentrate on fiction for so long, so I started reading medical journals and biology textbooks and stuff like that. Renting those emergency room documentaries and shit. Once I was old enough, I would volunteer for lifeguard and firefighter shit just to get the EMT training. I was one of the youngest kids on the island to be fully CPR certified. Eventually they caught onto the fact that I wasn't planning on being a lifeguard or anything, and they started kicking me out of the classes. Turns out nobody cares if you can save a life if you're not like, actively employed to do it.  
  
Growing up around a bunch of women had it's positives and negatives. Positives were like, knowing what shampoo and conditioner worked best for my hair. Negatives included most everyone hating me because I had a dick. Somewhere along all the medical shit I studied up on, I came across the gem known as gender reassignment surgery. It would have saved me a lot of fucking heartache if I had just picked up one of those self help books instead. Learning to Love Yourself, or whatever. I pored over articles and interviews and watched grainy videos of the surgeries. Somehow the whole horrible, painful process didn't really shake me as much as the idea that the only active relative in my life regretted either A. the fact that I was born a boy or B. the fact that I was born at all. I was about fifteen when casually brought up the idea to Meemaw. Well, as casually as someone can bring up the whole "I want a sex change" talk. Either I was that fucking convincing, or she just had enough money to spare to shut me up, but Meemaw took me to only surgeon in the area. Some hotshot doctor from up North that was experienced enough to not kill me on the operating table, but shitty enough to skip the psychological evaluation part. He left the practice in Berlin shortly after. He either got a TV show or got sued for malpractice, I can't really remember which one it was.  
  
The first couple of weeks after the surgery were and pretty much still are a blur. One of the Gaia thought it'd be more earth friendly to try holistic pain relief. Luckily they got tired of me screaming in agony and the good shit came in. Morphine and codeine and lots of shit that ended in "ine" that were probably a bad idea for a kid with an addictive personality to have free access to. Those days started the decade long refusal to acknowledge that my genitalia was anything but a swirling void of disappointment. When I was finally allowed to shower, I did it in the dark. When I looked in the mirror, I kept my eyes strictly above my waist. The doctor called a few times to harass me and Meemaw about getting the top surgery done. Meemaw gave up asking after I vomited on her slippers and then passed out from the pain. I spent most of the recovery time willingly in as close to a coma that I could get.  
  
Three weeks after the procedure, I came out of a drug doze to find Meemaw sitting in the busted ass recliner next to my bed. If it wasn't for the overwhelming pain between my legs, I would have thought I was dreaming. She reached out and grabbed my hand in the first affectionate gesture towards me for as far as I could remember. She was old as dirt, but there was some sort of unshakable youth in her features. She almost looked excited. I took a gulp of the warm ass water on my nightstand, nearly choking on it when she asked: "Jackie, my dear child. How long have you been able to move things with your thoughts?"  
  
Since I was seven. Little Mako, little fucking Jackie. There was one of those cool, handmade ceremonial drums in Meemaw's shop. I wanted to play with it so bad, but nobody is gonna hand something like that to an obnoxious little kid. A kid would either break it or play it so loudly and repetitively that you'd want to clobber him over the head with it after five minutes. I was sitting on an empty crate, just staring at the damned thing with the kind of immense need that only a seven year old can muster up. Then all the fucking sudden this damned drum slid off the shelf and landed neat as can be into my lap. The shelf was deep enough so it shouldn't have rolled off, and the drop was high enough so that even landing on me should have broken it. But here this shit was, sitting in my lap like "hey kiddo, you wanted me, now you got me." Nobody else noticed, nobody ever noticed shit when I was around. I was too fucking spooked to even play with it after that. I put it down under the counter and went to my room. Nobody asked anything, hell, nobody even realized that it was moved. Shit like that happened once in a while as I got older. I'd want a book or a bag of chips that was across the room, and I'd be too damned lazy to get up and grab it. Half the time I wouldn't even notice that I had it in my hand, I just go looking for that book or that bag of chips hours later and realize I already read or ate it.  
  
I told Meemaw all this, rolling the weight of my big secret off my back and hoping the sex change thing was enough to keep her from hating me for being such a freak. She kissed my hand and smiled down at my half stoned ass laying in that bed. I almost pissed myself when I hear her voice, as clear as if she said it out loud, right in my god damned head.  
"Is there anything else you can do that you didn't think was normal?"  
  
I tried to answer her the same way she asked, but all that gave me was a fucking nosebleed. She wiped the blood away with a tissue, still smiling, and told me it was OK to answer out loud. So I did that thing I do where I talk too fucking much, and told Meemaw all about the weird shit my brain could do. I told her about the bracelet I found on the beach, the really cool one with the turquoise and the turtles. I wanted to keep it but I kept getting these visions of the woman that lost it. The bracelet belonged to her mom, who died of cancer. She was so fucking sad that I couldn't stand wearing the thing. I dropped it off at the front desk of the hotel she was staying at. I didn't even know if she eventually got it back or not, I just knew that I felt a lot better without the woman's sadness in my brain. I told her about the fire that almost happened at the library, because one of the dumb interns left a PopTart in the shitty toaster and forgot about it. I saw the toaster start to spark in the break room, even though I was all the way in the periodicals. I'd never been in the break room but I ran there like it was my own ass on fire. I threw someone's jacket over the burning toaster and then tossed the pot of coffee over it to put it out. The manager there was so relieved that he pardoned all the late fees on my library card. I told her about Sophia's miscarriage. Well, everyone knew about that, but I told her about how I would regularly listen to Sophia's thoughts when she found out she was having a boy. It felt wrong, looking into her private thoughts like that, but it felt so nice hearing how much she loved this little boy that she hadn't even met yet. That wasn't even fully made, yet. I didn't tell Meemaw about how I went to Sophia after she came back from the doctor. How we cried together as the rest of her unborn son leaked out of her womb. Sophia promised me she'd keep my secret that day, and the least I could do to repay her is let her keep her heartache to herself.  
  
Meemaw listened to all my rambling with such rapt attention that I found myself telling her every little story of every little thing that seemed not normal. Instead of being repelled, this shit seemed to make her almost seem proud of me. All it took was a fully invasive surgery and the admission of my cocaine-borne psychic abilities to finally make me Meemaw accept and love me like an actual grand kid. Once I was healed enough to be on my feet for more than fifteen minutes at a time, she let me help her out in the shop. She taught me stuff, like the difference between the shit we sold that actually worked the miracles they claimed, and the shit that was just there to get money out of the tourists pockets. She let me come out to watch some of the Gaia rituals on Assateague, and showed me how to keep my mind clear and positive, which apparently helped with the whole brain power thing.  
  
I must have been harboring an unconscious bitterness, maybe due to the first sixteen years of my life being a tidal wave of suck, because even with the newfound family acceptance and responsibility shit, I started to do typical teenage acting out bullshit. I took more of my Adderall than I was supposed to, staying up for days at a time while I obsessively pored over my medical textbooks. I bought pot from the greasy haired creep behind Big Peckers, but quickly nixed that bit of rebellion when the guy tried to get me to blow him and I realized Meemaw's strains were better anyway. I stole shit from the local stores, but every time the cops would pick me up, they'd recognize Meemaw and let me off with just a warning. I was too much of a pacifist to do anything really rebellious, and too lazy to keep trying when I saw that nobody really cared anyway. So eventually I just picked up where I left off, and helped Meemaw run the store, helped the other Gaia keep shit together, and at one point I even ran a few yoga classes for Terri when she got stuck in the lotus position and pulled a muscle.  
  
I still didn't have any friends, hell, I didn't even talk to anyone outside of customers and the other Gaia until the summer after I turned 25.


	3. Chapter 3

Summer of 1992

Shit got really fucking weird in the summer of '92. Weird even for a kid that can move things with his brain, and hangs out with his pseudo-witch Meemaw in a New Age shop everyday. I met these guys, Noah, Mark and Derek, right before someone shot the Mayor right in front of half the fucking tourists on Division Street. 

I always figured there was some sort of a pecking order with the old folks in OC, but I didn't realize how much dick swinging bullshit was actually involved. Of course, I knew about the Children of Gaia, what with all of Meemaw's tree hugging, women power groupies always dragging me along for their full moon rituals and monthly menstrual meetings, or whatever. Derek was apparently chummy with the Russian guys that ran The Red Eye at the end of the inlet. Meemaw and Sophia claimed the guy in charge, Dmitri, was decent enough, but most of them seemed shifty eyed and trigger happy. Doug was the head of the Masons, nothing but boring ass old guys until they pulled in Randall, a literal eyeball stealing murderer. Up at the church, d'Rosso and all the Italians skulked around like a bunch of vampires. Noah did some work for d'Rosso, shady fucks of a feather, I guess. What really abraded my taint was that the Italians managed to wrangle up Thrax, a former Cropduster. 

In the same way that I wanted to keep away from the Italians and the Russians, the other guys were like that about the 'Dusters. It might have been the Nazi tattoos, or the fact that Vercie, the leader, literally worshipped Satan. The Cropdusters were a bunch of bikers that ran Morbid Manor, and it was a surprise to everyone (including me) when I accepted a joyride on the back of one of the dude's bikes and didn't end up the newest victim on an episode of Unsolved Mysteries. That little detour had me rethinking my celibacy for a good nanosecond before shit really hit the fan.

Somewhere between the ghost of Mayor Jim confessing his love to his personal trainer, Derek, and Mark taking a fucking bullet for me while we were taking the dinghy across from Assateague, the shop, my home, and my fucking grandmother got set the fuck on fire. It's a good thing Derek has bigger balls then me, literally and metaphorically, otherwise Meemaw would have burned to death along with all of our earthly belongings. 

My money was on d'Rosso and his fucking pasta tossers until I went to the hospital to visit Meemaw.

Then the list got bigger.

~

The hospital, new to the area as of the last two months, is impressive in size and outward luxury. "Atlantic General Hospital" is emblazoned in blue light across the side of the ivory exterior facing the highway. Mako, unimpressive in size and looks, checks in as a visitor. The receptionist spends an extended amount of time simply sneering apathetically at Mako. She offers the room number for Meemaw and a visitors pass only after ensuring to alert security of Mako's presence with an utter lack of subtlety. Unbothered by this behavior, Mako heads towards the elevator and hits the button for the second floor. As the door opens, Mako follows the signs to the burn unit and is immediately made aware of which room is Meemaw's. Outside one of the doors are Earl and Vercie of the Cropdusters. They speak to one another in soft whispers that are only noticeable for the scolding tone that Vercie directs toward his younger gangmate. Mako saunters up to the pair, nodding as he greets them. "Sup."

The pair are remarkably clean, smelling of Old Spice and aftershave. The bloody, inverted cross that usually adorns Vercie's countenance is absent and Earl sports an inelegant black hat that covers the large runic swastika that's typically seen on his bald head. Both nod in greeting and Vercie motions toward the closed door. "Family only," he explains in a gruff tone. "They put her out like a light, not that it'll do her much good."

"No shit, that's why I'm here," Mako quips. "Not like dad's gonna finally come back from his trip to the liquor store to visit her." He steps forward to enter the room.

"That would be something," Vercie grumbles to himself as he continues his conversation with Earl. 

In the harshly lit hospital room, Meemaw lays motionless on the bed. Her right arm and torso are wrapped with stained gauze, her exposed right hand covered with large, yellow-brown blisters. She seems to be in a pained, medically forced sleep. "Fuckin' shit," Mako mumbles to himself as he takes a seat next to the bed. The smell of burned and purulent skin permeates the room. No circulation system could keep up with the odor that leaks from the unconscious woman. The only signs that she remains alive are the two machines that make a rhythmic melody that bounces off the walls: the pumping air-tube and the steadily beeping heart monitor. Mako attempts to reach his grandmother's mind, telepathically, receiving the psychic reply equivalent to a television channel going off the air. He shrugs a shoulder in response to his own failure and silently watches the machines.

A knock on the door breaks the monotony of the moment. Mako looks up, not bothering to rise from his chair. His voice raises enough to be heard from outside in the hallway. "Uh, come in?"

Instead of a doctor or nurse, a familiar face enters. Archbishop d'Rosso, clad in an unassuming polo and wide black hat. "Good evening, Mako. I'm sorry for the intrusion."

Mako gives a look of genuine confusion. "Thought only family was allowed in. You got something you wanna tell me?" His expression grows minutely disturbed.

D'Rosso gives a mirthful laugh to the youth, replying, "When you donated the money for half the wings, you're everyone's family, no?" His laughing and jovial smile fade as his features weigh down with sorrow. "I'm sorry, Mako. I wish there was something they could do."

"Yeah well, I'd light some incense and sprinkle some healing herbs around, but they burned the fuck up with Meemaw." Mako's tone is lightly accusatory.

"Everything couldn't have been lost, could it? I had heard that someone ran to the fire department and got them to respond when the phones weren't working."

Mako rolls his eyes. "The idea was actually to jack a firetruck and put it out myself, but yeah, that sounded like a solid plan too."

"Do you know how to operate a hose?" He seems genuinely curious.

Mako shrugs, and replies with legitimate confidence. "Sure."

The archbishop takes a seat, lazily thwumping into the chair. "That sort of skill might become useful."

"Yeeeeeah," Mako appears expectant. "Did you need something, or are you just here to flaunt your good health?"

"Oh. I'm sorry," d'Rosso replies with a half hidden scoff. "An old friend was recently injured and is in the hospital, so I had thought to visit her and her beautiful grand... something."

Mako opens his mouth to respond, a smartass look on his face. He closes it just as quickly and huffs out a sigh, grudgingly replying, "Alright. Thanks for that, I guess."

"It's not for you, it's for her." The preacher presses his hands together and grips his palms. "If you can hear me, Evelyn, please." He nearly pleads, "Just wake up."

"Man, cut that shit out." Mako waves a dismissive hand. "They knocked her out for a reason. Case you didn't notice, she's charbroiled."

"They don't know what they're doing. Honestly, in thirty years these imbeciles are going to look like humorists and leechers." He presses his eyes with his knuckles. "I need to go camping."

Narrowing his eyes, Mako replies, "You don't strike me as an outdoorsman."

"Your grandmother took me on my first hike, believe it or not. She was a persuasive young woman. Pulled me out of my books, took me into the sun." D'Rosso looks at Mako with reddened eyes. "Do you camp?"

"Yeah, sometimes. I'm not good at it. I usually end up breaking the tent poles or wiping my ass with poison ivy." Mako turns his attention back towards the woman on the bed. As he watches Meemaw, the air tube stops moving and the beeps from the heart monitor quicken dramatically. "Shitting fuck," He looks for a call button for the nurse, before starting manual CPR.

"Oh, stop being so dramatic." The archbishop relaxes and, in a moment, the pump begins to function on its own again.

"Dramatic? The fuck I am." He takes his hands from the old woman's chest with hesitation. His eyes glance from the respirator, back to d'Rosso. "Don't fuck with Meemaw."

"I wasn't talking to you," d'Rosso replies.

Having heard the commotion, a nurse barges loudly into the room, revealing that the crowd outside the door has grown by at least three. Mako throws his hands in the air and slumps back into his chair. "...fucks sake." The nurse inspects Meemaw, casts a dirty look toward Mako and the Archbishop, then departs without a word. Mako also gives a dirty look towards the Archbishop. "The hell was that?

"People don't like us off the island. I cant really say why, but its always been like that." He sits back, leaning his head to stare at the ceiling.

Mako gestures towards Meemaw. "No, that. The fuck was that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Why don't you ask her when she wakes up? She might even tell you." He places a hand on the corner of the bed. "Your grandmother was always a bit of a... what's the word? Scamp?"

Mako watches the Archbishop with a mildly irritated expression. "Guess that's where I got it from."

"Well, you didn't get it from your father. That's for sure." He scowls slightly, furrowing his brow. "When does she plan on getting better, do you think? The line outside is really filling up."

Shaking his head at d'Rosso's audacity, Mako snaps, "My educated guess would be whenever her skin stops sloughing off and she's not in excruciating pain." 

"Typical Evelyn. Taking her own sweet time when everyone else is in a rush."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's exactly what she's doing." Leaning forward, Mako rests his arms on the bed, next to Meemaw's.

The Archbishop sits, quietly, tapping his foot in time with the breather.

Mako switches between watching the machines and watching the Archbishop. His expression is vaguely uncomfortable. Nearly an hour passes. No medical professional comes to the room, and the crowd outside remains a silent mob of at least a half dozen wellwishers. The Archbishop remains unnaturally still, almost as stone or plastic in the clothes and form of man. Awkwardly, Mako breaks the silence. "You gonna stay here all night?"

D'Rosso's form begins to show outward signs of life and breathing. He replies, "If necessary. We're all here to see if she pulls through. Or, if she doesn't more like."

"Hey whoa, knock it off with that glass half empty shit." Mako looks towards Meemaw. "She's a trooper."

"You have no idea-" d'Rosso's mocking tone is broken by a coughing fit by Meemaw as she begins to breathe on her own out of sync with the machine. Her eyes open in pained panic

"Shit on me," Mako stands, once more hammering on the call button for a nurse. The Archbishop seems mildly concerned, but doesn't stand. Meemaw tries to rip the tube from her mouth but only serves to damage the tubes integrity and begins choking. Her eyes alight in recognition of Mako, but fear seems the only emotion in them. Mako attempts to take her hands, grasping lightly at the few areas of unburned flesh. "Alright, alright Meemaw, just wait a minute for the nurse. You're gonna fuck your throat up, just chill for a second..." He attempts to mask the panic in his own voice as the door opens and a nurse pushes him out of her way. Hovering near the bed, Mako protests as another nurse and a doctor rush in, and he's ushered out of the room. Scowling at d'Rosso, still seated and staring towards the hospital bed, Mako kicks the bottom of the door as it's slammed in his face.

"What the fuck?" He glares accusingly at the group of vaguely familiar faces standing in the hallway, before turning to Vercie and Earl. "The fuck did they kick ME out for? I'm her fucking grandkid!" He kicks the door again, winces, then rubs at his face. 

Vercie puts a rough hand on Mako's shoulder. "Look at it like a boon, kid. When was the last time you got some damned sleep?"

Mako digs into his vest pocket, pulling out a bottle and shaking a pill out into his palm. "Probably when I still had a bed to sleep in. Y'know, before my bedroom burned the fuck down." He dry swallows the pill with a grimace and looks up at Vercie. "No, no you're right, man. Mark offered me a bed at the dormitory. Eating something other than Adderall and actually resting my fucking brain would do me some good."

Nodding, Vercie jerks his head towards his gangmate. "Earl can give you a ride back Southside. If anything else happens over here, we can call you at the dorm." 

Expression brightening fractionally, Mako shrugs one shoulder, casually responding, "Alright."

As the two wait for the elevator, their short conversation echoes down the heavily populated, yet queerly quiet hallway.

"Man, you're not going to hate crime me and leave me for dead halfway over the bridge, are you?"

Brief, but genuine laughter. "Nah, not until the first date."

A pause, then a higher pitched chuckle. "Shee-it."


	4. Chapter 4

Summer of 1992

It's another balmy, humid July afternoon, made worse by the disquieting feeling that passes over Mako and Earl as Earl's motorcycle crosses the bridge into Berlin. On the back of the bike, Mako grits his teeth and mumbles something about the Bermuda triangle, keeping a casual hold on Earl's waist. They arrive at the hospital, parking at a front spot in the nearly deserted parking lot. The lobby is similarly empty, without an attendant, or any other visible employee. Making his way to the elevator, Mako rolls his eyes. "Great fuckin hospital."

As the pair exit the elevator, the sound of babbling speech can be heard from down the hallway. The tone is destructively pacifying and overflows with faux courtesy. Earl raises a studded brow at the echoing caterwauling. Recognizing the voice, Mako makes a face akin to someone who has smelled an offensive smell, and continues forward. As Mako and Earl reach the open door, they are greeted by the sight of an emaciated figure in a red dress. The figure yaks relentlessly to a nurse who seems trapped in the conversation. The expression on Mako's face grows visibly disgusted, as he sets eyes on the woman. "Jesus fucking christ," he comments, stopping in the doorway.

The patch skinned aberration turns its spinal neck enough to see Mako, then immediately begins to cry. It cries and smiles and sobs and reaches out to hug him. With a cunning sort of dexterity, Mako ducks out of the way, and behind Earl. The putrid beast begins to spew sobbing sounds from between its rose red lips. "Honey, please. I've missed you, come here. I need to know you're real." Earl stealthily takes a switchblade from his back pocket. In the confusion, the nurse escapes.

"Yeah, just consider me one of your coke fueled hallucinations." Mako glances around the woman, looking towards Meemaw. "Can we work something out where we like, visit in shifts? So I uh, don't ever have to see you?" Meemaw lays silently, eyes fluttering in some semblance of awareness.

The malignant maternal monstrosity interjects through a fresh falling of tears. "I'm better, honey. I'm better now. Mama's brought us back together, she's brought you back to me!"

  
Mako takes his attention from Meemaw long enough to spare a disdainful glance to his mother. "Better is a really subjective fucking word here."

  
Stepping between the two, Earl places his hands on the thing's shoulders, barking out, "Calm the fuck down, bitch. No one is here for you. We're here to see Meemaw. Why don't you take a fucking walk, before I cut you from ear to eye on both sides." The thing looks shocked, looking to Mako to defend it.

Smirking, Mako shrugs in a 'well what can ya do' kind of way, and moves towards Meemaw's side of the bed. The monstrosity in red is contained by Earl, who threatens her with his now-brandished blade to shut her mouth. He calmly shuts the door to block view of any passersby and Mako is given free access to Meemaw. "Thanks," comments Mako to Earl, ignoring his mother in the most purposeful way possible. He pulls one of the chairs close to the bed, and plops down into it. Meemaw's eyelids flutter, but no other movement or signs of sentience are apparent. Mako's mother begins threatening Earl, telling him that it can afford the best lawyers in the state, now. "Shut up, Julia." Mako comments, angrily. "It's not even your fucking money."

The thing responds with a mix of vitriol and self pity, espousing that the family accountant thought that Meemaw's estate would be better kept in the hands of her daughter than in the hands of some beach hood. Mako scoffs loudly. "Yeah? Who's dick did you suck to get them to say that?" The monstrous woman lunges over Earl and smacks Mako. Without hesitation, Mako jerks his hand forward and smacks her back. She swears that Mako deserves to rot in hell for the disrespect to his mother. Just like his grandmother, he'll get exactly what he deserves. Door slamming behind her, Mako's mother leaves. "Great." He sighs. "Now I've gotta worry about that whore following me into hell when I die." 

In the hospital bed, Meemaw's eyelids flutter, tears welling and falling. Earl snaps his switchblade shut, sliding it back into his pocket, before sitting down next to Mako. Frowning, Mako turns his gaze from the doorway to Meemaw. He gestures a hand vaguely towards the door. "That was not even my fault. She started it." Mako looks to Earl to back up his statement.

Earl clears his throat. "I probably made that worse by holding her back. That's my bad."

Mako makes a dismissive sound. "Nah, fuck her. You can't be a piece a shit all your kid's life and then like, expect to trade crack for motherhood all the sudden."

  
"What did she mean about suing the shit out of me with good lawyers? Do you come from money or something?"

  
"I doubt the crackhead or the deadbeat have any money." Mako shrugs. "I'm guessin' Meemaw does, since everyone's circling like fucking vultures over her. I don't care either way."

  
"That fucking bitch better not sell the shop. You guys were the only place I could buy a bra that fits." He delivers this punch line without any inflection.

  
"Heh. I'll personally make ya one, for scaring that bitch off." Mako takes one of Meemaw's hands. "Wish you'd wake up. I can't make heads or tails of half these people 'round OC lately." The eyes flutter, but no response is given other than labored breathing. Mako feels a strange prodding at his brain, as if something were attempting to make a connection to his mind. Curious, he relents to the intrusion. Moments later, his head snaps back, hitting the wall as he stumbles out of his chair. Blinking to clear his vision, Mako rubs his head and comments, "Fucking A remind me not to do that shit again."

  
Earl has a shocked look on his face and holds a paper towel soaked in dark red blood. "Are you alright? What the hell was that?"

Mako shakes his head to clear it. "That was a... thing. Who's bleedin'? Are you bleedin'?"

  
Motioning toward Meemaw whose mouth is covered in the remnants of thick blood, Earl replies, "I tried to wipe most of it off, but she started sneezing it up when you started singing."

  
"Shit. I was singing?" Mako grabs some tissues and begins cleaning the rest of the blood off. Meemaw seems almost restful, her eyes closed and her breathing unlabored. Tossing the bloody tissues in the trash can, Mako wipes his forearm across his eyes. To Earl, he comments "Sorry I keep dragging you into this Jerry Springer shit, man. I can start catching a cab or something."

  
"No, no. I want to be here," Earl insists. "I fucking hate the idea of going over the bridge, but I'd do it every day for you."

  
Mako gives Earl a skeptical look. "Dude. You know I'm just like, a douchebag beach bum that's probably autistic from the amount of drugs my mom did when she was pregnant with me, right?" He shakes his head. "Like, the only reason I don't have fetal alcohol syndrome is cuz all the cocaine balanced it out."

  
Earl looks visibly uncomfortable, then replies, almost meekly, "You're not the only one with family issues. You deserve someone to make sure you get out the other side alright."

  
Rubbing the back of his neck, looking vaguely uncomfortable as well, Mako awkwardly replies, "Ah well... shit, man."

  
"I liked the way you told her off, you know." Earl places his hand on Mako's leg, comfortingly.

  
Mako glances down at Earl's hand, cheeks turning pink as his expression grows noticeably more apprehensive. "Yeah, it'd be cool if she died. But uh," He trails off.

  
"Would be pretty easy to trace that back to you, I think. But uh, yeah." He moves his hand back to his own lap, a red blush reaching from his cheeks to his forehead.

  
"Yeah." Mako looks back to the hospital bed. "Plus Meemaw would probably be kinda pissed at me." He shrugs. "There's always heart attacks or car accidents to look forward to."

  
Looking back up at the hospital door, Earl adds, "If there's any justice in the world." For a moment, he's silent, then asks, "Everyone seemed pretty worried about your Meemaw. Like, pretty much everyone that's anyone."

  
"Three quarters of those fuckers are just trying to get something out of her, I bet." He makes a disgusted scoff. "I'd rather have like, three people that actually give a shit about me standing 'round my hospital bed, then a city full of assholes. They remind me of those fish that suck on the shark's belly, or whatever."

  
"You're probably right," Earl agrees. "Honestly, I just wish she'd wake up. Although, it's for a pretty fucking selfish reason, anyway."

  
Mako cocks his head to the side, curious. "Yeah? What's your reason?"

  
Earl smiles as his blush returns, "You'd smile a lot more, and I think your smile is pretty amazing. If you don't care that I say, I mean. What I mean to say is, for beach trash, it's really nice."

  
"Shee-it." He laughs nervously. "You can thank Meemaw for that. Couldn't find an all natural remedy for my overbite, so she paid for my braces."

  
"Then I guess I owe her a thank you." He fidgets uncomfortably as the room begins to feel like a humid hot-box filled with belching sulfur. The air takes on the odd feeling that plagued Mako and Earl as they crossed the bridge earlier.

  
Mako wipes his arm over his brow again, unnerved by either the discomfort of the room, or the awkwardness of the situation. "Maybe we should head back home. Or well, head back to wherever I'm sleeping tonight." Earl gets up eagerly, as if the prospect of leaving were a form of salvation. With a slight nod to Meemaw, he gives Mako a moment of privacy before they leave. Mako sighs, bending down to kiss his grandmother on the forehead. "Love you, Meemaw. I'll be back tomorrow." The woman merely sleeps, breathing quietly and utterly still. With a squeeze of Meemaw's hand, Mako leaves the room to join Earl in the hallway.

At the elevator down the hall, Earl presses the button with fervent speed and frequency. Mako gestures to their general vicinity. "What d'ya think this is all about?"

  
Earl quickly gets into the elevator, growing paler as the doors delay in their closing. "Which part?"

Mako leans against the wall of the elevator. "The like, walking through the Twilight Zone feeling."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, my dad always talked about that. He called it 'Cement Gas.'" Earl grimaces. "I hate the way the air feels out here. It's like its polluted, you know?"

  
"Yeah. Something ain't right about it."

  
The doors open and Earl begins to briskly walk toward the front door, commenting, "I wonder if your Meemaw can feel it. You think she'd be better somewhere on the island?"

Mako looks up to the sky as they walk, brow furrowing. "Shit, maybe. Bet it would be a bitch to try to move her."

  
Earl nods to a parking space near the front labeled, 'Lucius d'Rosso, BoD.' "Why?" he asks, "Cause of him?"

  
Glaring at the sign, Mako responds, "Probably a little bit of him, and a lot of the weird shit that happens around here."

  
Earl shakes his head. "You're not fucking kidding. You want to stay over at the Morbid Manor? We've got cot space."

After a moment of contemplation, Mako replies, "Yeah, why not. That guy Mark offered up his place, but eh, I feel like I'm sort of science project to him."

  
"I didn't like him at first, just seemed like all the other college kids that come for vacation. I don't know, though. He's pretty decent." Earl gets on the bike with a brisk motion. 

  
Mako climbs behind him. "I guess. He took a bullet for me, so that's pretty alright."

  
Earl looks back, "Who the hell shot at you?"

  
Mako shrugs. "I think we're all trying to figure that out. Somebody from that Russian club, it seems like."

  
"Really? Fucking Bratwursts? Typical." He starts the bike and speeds toward home.

  
"Could've been some other fucktard in there. I dunno. I'm just glad I didn't get fuckin' shot." Mako shouts over the sound of the motorcycle.

  
Earl screams, "So am I," and drives toward the bridge.

  
As the two pass over the bridge, the air is immediately less severe in taste and oppressive weight.  
Mako lets out an audible sigh. "...jesus." He keeps his hands on Earl's waist, reveling in the sense of relief he gets from nearing the island again.

  
The sun is coming down, with streaks of pink striking the oceanic horizon. Earl rolls up onto the boardwalk and parks. Climbing off the back of the motorcycle, Mako peers out towards the water. Leaving the keys in the ignition, Earl begins walking out to the beach. Mako absently retrieves the keys, calling after him, "You're gonna get sand in your boots, man."

  
"Had worse in there." Earl levels a glare at a couple of tourists who quickly abandon their towel near the water. Then, he sits. Mako pauses to take his worn sneakers off, rolling his pant legs up a little before plopping down next to Earl. He holds the motorcycles keys out towards him. Earl looks down, chuckles, and takes the keys. "I wasn't worried about it," he states nonchalantly.

  
"I figured." Mako pushes his toes into the sand.

  
Earl lays back and stares at the pink and blue sky. "Life is fucking shitty."

  
"Eh. I mean, it was pretty alright up until Meemaw almost burned to death, and my gutter whore mother showing back up." Completely covering his feet, Mako looks over at Earl. "What's up with you, though?"

  
"Just broke as shit, living with a bunch of assholes in a moldy ass haunted house. Life doesn't mean a god damn thing and no one would give a shit if I died." He continues to stare up at the sky, as the light slowly fades from the clouds. "Like, nothing would change. Things would go on the same way they'd always done. "

  
Frowning, Mako piles more sand onto his feet. "That's pretty glass half empty, man. Or like, glass dropped on the floor and stomped on."

  
He shrugs and continues staring, now at Mako. Mako continues to stare at his feet for a moment, before noticing Earl's eyes on him and returning the man's gaze. Earl continues, "I want to do something good for once, you know? You know what that's like?" He seems relaxed and vulnerable, almost puddle-like.

  
"Uh, kinda." Mako lifts and drops one shoulder. "I just kinda go with the flow."

  
"That sounds a lot better, actually. Like, a lot easier. You wanna swim with me?" Earl, an oddly confused look on his face, stands and deposits his shirt onto the towel.

  
Mako appears fairly flustered, his eyes dropping down to Earl's bare chest, then back up to his face. "I uh, don't have my suit. My bathing suit." Earl starts walking toward the water, shedding his boots and jeans. Then, he strides passively into the waves. With Earl's back to him, Mako glances down at himself with an almost angry expression. The expression quickly turns to sadness and just as quickly impassive as Earl turns back to look at Mako. Earl's own expression seems vacant, as a wave hits him and pulls him under. "Fuck," Mako grumbles. He stands, moving closer to the water, his eyes staying on the spot where Earl went under. Earl is exposed for a moment, a curled and pale figure that is pulled back out by the tide. He doesn't seem to be attempting any resistance. Withut a single moment of hesitation, Mako reaches towards the other man with his mind, telekinetically dragging his body from the water. Mako grunts, struggling as there's some sort of hinderance keeping him from pulling Earl to the shore. "God damn it." He wades into the shallow waves, turning his head slightly as he sees something moving in his periphery. A plethora of horseshoe crabs crawl just off shore. Furrowing his brow and focusing his power, Mako regains control of Earl, bringing him to the shore just as the horseshoe crabs recede back into the water. He places him gently down on the down, grimacing as he exits the water.

Earl is inert, his eyes open, eyelids fluttering incessantly. Mako checks his vitals and calls the other man's name to no response. Alarmed, he slaps the side of Earl's cheek with a controlled firmness. "Hey man, snap out of it!" Earl coughs and awakens, semi deliriously. He seems panicked, shell shocked, but alert. Mako attempts to sit Earl in an upright position, commenting, "Dude, what the hell?"

Shaking, his eyes wide and unblinking, Earl asks, "Am I back? Where the hell was I?"

  
Mako gives Earl a look that seems torn between confusion and concern. "What do you mean, where were you? You walked into the water."

  
"Did I?" Earl finally blinks. "I remember looking at the ocean, and someone started playing their stereo really loud. Then I was floating in the most fucking amazing cloud."

  
Mako's brow furrows. "Ok well only one of those things happened."

  
"The stereo?" He laughs, then coughs up a small bit of salty and frothy water.

  
"No, the cloud." Mako pats Earl on back.

"The cloud was a thing? Shit. Thats... something." Earl scratches at his head where a small bump resides. "I saw your grandma, though. Fucking dreams, man."

  
"Nah, I was kidding." He pauses. "Wait, what? You saw Meemaw?"

  
Earl nods. "Yeah, she was floating in the cloud with me. It was kinda like swimming, but with like a rope on a belt."

  
"Huh. Weird." Mako stares out towards the waves, then back to Earl. "Well, you definitely would have drowned like a motherfucker, cuz there definitely weren't any clouds or anything."

  
"Shit. Maybe this was a bad idea." He looks at the towel, at Mako, at his hands.

  
"What, the water part?"

  
"The beach part, yeah. I'm kinda sorta still not all the way here." He looks at the pier.

  
Mako follows Earl's line of sight, replying, "Ah. Maybe we should get you back up to the house?"

  
Earl stares, unsure. "Where do I live right now?"

  
"Shit, man." Mako stands, brushing sand off his pants. "The haunted house with the other guys. C'mon."

  
Earl's eyes wander back to the ocean. "Right, the other guys."

Realizing Earl isn't likely to make any moves on his own, Mako helps the other man to his feet. Earl is largely quiet as the two of them walk back to the pier and Morbid Manor, with Mako having to support him most of the way. They greet the Cropdusters as they reach the sleeping quarters, Earl somewhat nonsensically. Mako deposits Earl onto his cot, where he almost instantly falls into what appears to be an uneasy sleep. Perching on an adjacent cot, Mako makes small talk with a few of the other 'Dusters before hitting the hay, himself.


End file.
